


Don't You (Forget About Me)

by Cerberusia



Category: Gundam 00
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Mindfuck, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>'Hallelujah deliberately chooses a sensitive spot to make his mark.'</i> As always with Hallelujah, it isn't painless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't You (Forget About Me)

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink_bingo prompt _writing on the body_.

As a Super Soldier, Allelujah is engineered to withstand considerable pain. So, by extension, is Hallelujah.

This has the obvious advantage of helping them acheive difficult and dangerous mission objectives, whether they're being slammed into their viewscreens, involved in combat outside a mobile suit or being tortured. But naturally there are other, less _mainstream_ benefits.

Hallelujah deliberately chooses a sensitive spot to make his mark: the knife hovers above the top side of their thigh, as if considering where best to start. Trapped inside his own head, Allelujah grits his teeth and wills it to be over.

Hallelujah reaches up a hand to run through their hair, and Allelujah feels the tug, simultaneously soothing and controlling. _You can't stop me_ , says Hallelujah, and Allelujah wishes he could close his eyes.

The blade slides in, and they hiss in a breath. Slowly, Hallelujah drags the knife through their thigh, parting the flesh. It's only a shallow cut and nowhere near the femoral artery, thank God, but the blood wells up to run down the inside of their thigh in thin red rivulets.

One straight line done, and Hallelujah slips the blade free of flesh. But they both know he isn't done.

The sharp pain of penetration, an inch below the previous cut. Again, a slow straight line, a little longer this time, clean through the skin, neat as a surgeon. Allelujah is unwillingly fascinated by the glimpse of his own insides.

Hallelujah draws out for the second time, and to Allelujah's surprise that seems to be the end. Then he remembers the earliest characters he ever learnt, back in the HRL where after his escape he had to learn Russian and Chinese to get by, and gets it.

Hallelujah brings the blade up to examine it, wet with their blood, and Allelujah knows he's considering licking it. He'd rather he didn't, but that doesn't often stop Hallelujah.

Sure enough, the blade is brought closer and their tongue flicks out to trace the side, where the blood runs down to collect at the point. The metal is cold, but the blood is still warm, salt and iron in their mouth. Hallelujah relishes it; at 19, Allelujah still prefers his coffee with sugar.

That should be the end of it: Hallelujah should relinquish control, leaving Allelujah to clean up the mess he's caused, put his clothes back on and get on with normal life as he currently knows it, trying to ignore the ache in his thigh.

In the back of his head, Hallelujah grins dark and dirty. _This is more fun,_ he says, resettling himself more comfortably, which sets off a bolt of pain in their leg. It's nothing they can't cope with, but it still feels like the knife's being thrust right back in. Hallelujah drops their hand down, slides over their thigh around the wound - he doesn't need to touch it to keep Allelujah's attention there.

Hallelujah is hard. It's strange - they share the body, so technically it's Allelujah's cock as well, but it's definitely Hallelujah's at the moment. Almost idly, Hallelujah dips his fingers in the open wound, and Allelujah would scream if he could, white streaking across his vision. As ever, Hallelujah knows how to make it hurt. Allelujah thinks he might be getting off on the pain, but he's definitely getting off on the control.

Allelujah isn't getting off on anything right now, but when Hallelujah starts to masturbate, he can feel it just as well as he would if he were in control, the slow, pleasurably ache, pressure building hot in his abdomen. He can feel Hallelujah's consciousness nudging his, saying, _go on, enjoy it_. He'd rather do anything but, but Hallelujah knows their body, knows how Allelujah likes it. So he curls up in the back of their mind as small as he can make himself, and tries not to think about their body's action and reaction.

 _Oh no you don't_ \- and he's abruptly shoved back into control, except that he can still feel Hallelujah's hand on his cock. His own hand has moved to clutch his thigh, but he can feel phantom fingers slide down. Breath on his neck: _Better?_ Mocking.

"No," he snaps, and Hallelujah just laughs and starts pumping his cock again. It's bizarre - there's nothing to see, but he is excruciatingly aware of Hallelujah's thumb rubbing the head of his cock and his warm breath on his neck. This is the power Hallelujah has over him.

 _What do you want, me to hold your hand and kiss you?_ Hallelujah's voice is rough, but not as sharp as it might be. Does he-? Allelujah didn't think Hallelujah cared whether Allelujah liked him or not: he takes pleasure in upsetting him no matter how he's treated.

 _Close your eyes,_ says Hallelujah, and kisses him roughly. Allelujah wants to disobey just for the sake of it, but it turns out that being kissed by something that you can't see is just bizarre, so he takes the blackness instead. It's a messy kiss: Hallelujah bites and won't keep still and Allelujah is hyperaware of what Hallelujah's tongue feels like against his. He's sure there shouldn't be this level of detail in a hallucination.

That gets a particularly vicious bite to his lower lip. _Fuck you, cocksucker, I exist_. This, Allelujah has to acknowledge, is horribly true. Hallelujah squeezes his cock, and Allelujah can feel their legs brushing: they're facing each other. Hallelujah's hand comes up to take hold of Allelujah's face, positioning his jaw how he wants it, and it's surprisingly hot and maybe just a little tender. Allelujah makes soft noises into the kiss; it's kind of embarrassing, but there's no-one but Hallelujah around to care.

Distantly, he thinks he should probably be more concerned about how he's getting off on his alternate personality jerking him off using their own blood as lube, but over time he's getting to accept that he will never fit anyone's perception of normal. He still doesn't like what Hallelujah does to him or how he reacts to it, but he's learning to cope with himself - and Hallelujah.

 _Good boy, you're learning._ A quick, gentle bite to his ear. Hallelujah is never this gentle. Then again, Allelujah never submits this easily. _C'mon, come for me,_ says Hallelujah, voice just a touch breathy, and Allelujah is suddenly reminded that Hallelujah is getting off on this as well - and that Hallelujah can't come unless Allelujah does. That's his little bit of power over Hallelujah.

But of course, Hallelujah can make him come. And he does, hot breath and wet tongue on his neck, always with the promise of teeth, _c'mon do it for me good boy for me_ and Allelujah squeezes his eyes shut tighter and comes in pulses over the phantom hand and his own stomach. He can feel Hallelujah coming too, upswell of pleasure underneath his own.

Very gently, he leans forward on his knees until his hands and forehead touch the bedspread, panting quietly. Already, his body is coping with the adrenaline, processing it into hyperawareness. The background hum of the Ptolemaios seems unbearably loud for several moments before it evens out: no danger, false alarm. He relaxes again.

His thigh still throbs with pain. It's stopped bleeding, but he's going to have to clean it with antiseptic, along with disinfecting where his blood has dripped onto the sheets: he doesn't want to risk anyone noticing it when the sheets go to wash and start asking awkward questions. At least Hallelujah's phantom can't actually break skin, no matter how real his split lip felt moments before.

"You always leave me to deal with the mess," he says, and Hallelujah just laughs, sated and a little sleepy.

 _That's what you're for,_ he says, and that's insulting on several levels and (he thinks) untrue, but he's too tired to argue with Hallelujah and he never wins even when he tries, so he just gets out the medical kit from under his bed with as little movement of his leg as possible, and starts clean-up.

As he starts to rub alcohol on the wound, he feels - or imagines he feels - phantom fingers brushing over it, so quickly and lightly that it's probably just the area being oversensitive. Hallelujah doesn't say anything, so it's almost certainly his imagination. Still, as he wipes away the blood from the neat edges of the cuts, he finds one side of his mouth curling into a tiny smile.


End file.
